The Margaret Anglin

By George Sterling


She has heard mighty music from the Past,
    And deathless trumpets from oblivion,
    And she has seen the blood of heroes run
To stain the morning of a day forecast.
How high, O Art, the ministry thou hast!
    Behold! the magic of thy chosen one
    Has called their shades from Lethe to the sun,
And ghosts of gods from heavens that could not last,

Black on the arras of the years that were,
What shadows of immortal armies stir!
    The stars conspire, and groping by their light,
        Man seeks for joy and peace, nor knows what loom,
    Tireless by dusk or noon or deep of night,
        Runs scarlet with the fabric of his doom.

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